Someday Never Comes
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: Following WIAWSNB, Sam takes his brother someplace quiet and remote to recover, only to find that you can't escape yourself -- especially if you're a Winchester.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm ashamed to admit that I am posting this because a) I've been lazy and haven't posted anything for such a long time, and b) I'm lazy and I'm procrastinating finishing this fic and am going to blatantly use you guys for motivation. It's all plotted out, I swear, and if I know people are reading, I am easily guilted into finishing it. (shrugs) It's a sucky thing to do, I know, but never underestimate the power of guilt.**

**Takes place immediately after What Is and What Should Never Be, simply because Dean is so much fun to emotionally torture. (shakes head in shame) Sorry. Can't help myself.**

**Someday Never Comes**

One

The tendril of smoke rose from the cigarette, dissipating into the dark shadows as Gary Corrigan leaned against the porch rail and sighed. God that felt good. He'd promised Katy he would give them up after they were married, but it was harder than he'd anticipated. It wasn't that he'd intentionally lied to his new bride, he just hadn't thought he'd miss the tactile sensation of the act of smoking quite so much.

He knew all the health risks as well as the other offensive side effects of the habit, but he'd been putting away almost a half a pack a day since he was sixteen years old and had never gave much thought to what it was doing to his body nor his redeeming qualities in general.

Of course, Katy made sure he knew that she objected – quite strongly in fact. She had told him it was like kissing an ashtray and that she would not allow the stench of the cigarettes into her house. While the words had hurt at first, her bluntness was one of the things he had come to love about her, and had agreed to the ultimatum of quitting in order to get her to say yes to his marriage proposal.

But that didn't mean he had to go cold turkey, right?

He had already cut it down to a handful of cigarettes a day and was working on cutting them out entirely – and it was only their honeymoon! By the time they returned to the city and got back into the grind of their everyday lives, he figured he'd have the proverbial monkey off his back and they would be able to live happily ever after.

But that was then – this was now. He had made it through most of the day of antiquing without so much as a twinge of a craving. They had had a wonderful, romantic dinner in the little restaurant in town and then retired to their lakeside cabin and made love. It had, all in all, been a perfect day.

But, the monkey had refused to stay buried and had raised its ugly head even as they snuggled comfortable in the big down filled bed. Careful not to disturb Katy, he'd crept out into the night like a criminal and lit up, savoring the taste of the tobacco as it seared through his lungs.

So caught up in the bliss of the stolen moment of pleasure, he'd thought he'd imagined the distant wail at first. Then it came again, floating clear and strong over the lapping of the water against the small boat moored to the dock twenty yards down the path in front of the cabin.

Gary blew out the last of the smoke and quickly stamped the cigarette out against the dirt at the base of the wooden stair. He took a few steps forward into the yard, his eyes straining in the darkness, darting out over the calm water of the lake.

The sound floated toward him.

It was a woman. A woman who was crying.

He carefully made his way to the shoreline, standing at the edge of the small, swaying dock. A low fog covered the surface of the lake, rolling in and out almost as if it were alive. The crying grew louder and Gary could make out a few words interspersed in the sad sound.

"Hello?" he called softly, not wanting to disturb Katy still asleep, snuggled in their bed. "Is there anyone there?"

The wailing became more pronounced and Gary leaned forward, his eyes trying to see through the spreading mist.

"Hello?" he repeated, his head slowly moving from side to side as he listened for any kind of response.

"_They're gone…"_

Gary jumped as the voice whispered from almost right in front of him. Taking a step back, his foot tilted on the edge of the dock and he windmilled his arms in an attempt to regain his balance.

"_Help me find them…."_

As the whisper faded away, Gary lost his fight with gravity and gracelessly toppled into the water. The mist rolled in quickly across the surface where the young man had gone under, obscuring the water from direct view of the shore. Slowly, the white blanket began to dissipate, leaving nothing behind but the soft sound of the water leisurely lapping against the side of the dock.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

Sam Winchester drove, one eye on the dark road before them, the other surreptitiously on his brother who remained slumped against the passenger side door of the Impala, dead to the world.

Almost, Sam reminded himself grimly.

It had been close. He had found Dean inside that abandoned warehouse just in time. Although Dean had managed to figure a way out of the djinn's fantasy world, the blood loss had already been substantial and he had been close to going into shock. If Sam had shown up even an hour later, he wasn't sure if there would have been enough of his brother to save.

The girl they had rescued had been in critical condition when Sam had called the hospital, and they had told him she had a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the night. There had been no way Sam was going to let his brother believe that he'd failed to save her, so he'd lied and told Dean that she was going to be okay. He hoped it was true, for Dean's sake as well as the innocent girl's.

Dean hadn't wanted to stick around, even though he was weak from blood loss and more than a little freaked from his sojourn into the djinn's dream world. Sam had been able to gather bits and pieces of what his brother had gone through, and his heart broke for Dean knowing how hard it must have been for his brother to turn his back on something he'd wished for his whole life in order to come back to a world he never had a choice in being a part of.

Dean shifted and gave a low moan, his face twisting in pain as the Impala's wheel hit a pothole and jarred his body. He'd barely been able to lift his arms thanks to being strung up like a side of beef for those long hours in the warehouse. Sam knew he must be sore, not only from the muscle fatigue, but from the blood loss and cold that had seeped into his body in the derelict building. He hoped like hell his brother was able to get some real rest, but doubted he'd be able to considering the condition he was in and the rolling and shaking of the classic car.

The familiar comfort of the Impala was normally a bane to Dean's soul, but tonight, he was beat to hell and needed someplace warm and safe to rest and regain his strength. As the big black car rumbled down the two-lane highway, Sam noticed a sign for the Lakeview Resort Cabins. It looked remote and private – and probably a little above their usual price range. But considering the circumstances, Sam wanted to get his brother someplace he could hole up and recover. Someplace quiet, someplace he could rebuild his defenses.

Someplace safe.

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

"_Stay with us… get some rest…"_

_He closed his eyes, relishing the warmth of his mother's hand on his cheek. This was what he had wished for his entire life. His mom, Sam… both happy and content. Both safe from the evil that lurked in the dark. _

_But it wasn't real. He knew it. No matter how much he wanted it to be…_

_He opened his eyes and took one last look at his mom, at Carmen, at Sam…. Here, in this world, his one wish was fulfilled. But it wasn't his world. It could never be._

_With a sad smile, he stepped back and raised the silver knife, taking in his family surrounding him._

"_I'm sorry."_

Dean awoke with a start, his eyes open wide, his mind taking a moment to discern the unfamiliar furnishings of the cabin in the darkness around him. His hand wrapped around his stomach, the pain of the knife wound quickly receding, leaving only a phantom twinge as he swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the dimness as his mind assured him which reality he was actually a part of. The soft sound of his brother's breathing from the other bed filtered through the confusion of what he knew was a dream…a memory… ah hell, he had no idea what it had been.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled to his back and held it for a moment, giving his heart time to catch up with his brain. As the intense beating started to slow, he carefully pushed himself up and turned so his legs were dangling off the side of the bed, both arms shakily supporting him on the mattress. There was enough moonlight filtering through the curtains to see Sam, and he was relieved to find his brother's eyes closed, and his face relaxed in sleep. The sight worked to calm Dean's turmoil even more until he could finally breath normally and his heart didn't feel as if it would burst from his chest in the next few seconds.

He ran a hand across his face, grimacing at the slick of sweat on his skin. This really, really sucked.

He was so tired. All he wanted was a good night sleep, free of dreams – good or bad – so that he could actually find the strength to pull himself together. The djinn's fantasy world had really done a number on him and he desperately needed to find some kind of equilibrium despite the constant need and ache to be back in the safety and warmth of that world.

He knew it wasn't real. He knew it was simply a fantasy contrived from his own mind in order to keep him sedate and calm while the djinn drained his life away.

But that didn't mean he didn't feel the loss.

He missed her.

How pathetic did that make him?

After almost twenty-five years, he still missed his mother so much that some evil, soul-sucking monster had been able to use it against him and almost succeed in getting him to give up everything.

Dad would've been so proud.

Sure, he'd managed to pull himself out of the fantasy – by killing himself no less – but he had been taught better. He should have never let himself be sucked in in the first place. At least Sam seemed to understand. His brother had been more than patient, simply being there, hovering just on the fringe, never letting Dean sink into the depression that clawed at the edges of his soul.

He let his eyes drift to his brother's sleeping form. At least Sam was okay. That was all that really mattered anyway. The younger man had insisted they stop for the night, claiming fatigue, but Dean knew that he'd stopped out of concern for him. He had to admit that since their short talk back in the motel room, he hadn't felt like saying much of anything. He knew his silence was scaring his brother, but he had no idea what to say… how to explain how much this had hurt him.

He didn't want to scare Sam, but he needed time. He needed to process what had happened. It was like losing her all over again. When he was four, he'd handled his mother's death by withdrawing into himself, blocking out everyone and everything except his father and his little brother. By helping his dad take care of baby Sammy, he'd found a reason to live, a reason to move forward. When his dad had left on hunts, leaving him in charge of their welfare, Dean had begun to build himself into the man he needed to be.

He wasn't sure where to find that now.

Sure, he still had Sam, and he still believed it his job to protect his brother. But Sam wasn't a baby anymore. And he'd made it clear that he didn't need his big brother to fight his battles for him. Sam was an adult – a competent hunter that Dean respected enough to trust to have his back.

So what exactly did that leave him?

He raised a hand and rubbed at his head in an attempt to dispel the slight ache that had taken residence behind his eyes. He shivered as the cool night air drifted across his slightly damp skin. Grabbing the comforter from the bed, he silently rose and made his way across the darkened room, careful not to wake his brother.

The cabin was a one-room space with the two beds on the left and a small kitchen and living room to the right. It wasn't much larger than most of the motel rooms they ended up in, but it was quiet and Dean appreciated the thought his brother had taken when finding them a place to spend the night. It's not like he'd been much help in that area. Dean bit back a sigh of regret, knowing his behavior was causing his brother to worry. It wasn't like he meant to. But it wasn't everyday he had his entire world ripped out from under him….

Who was he kidding? His world had been ripped from under him so long ago, all that was left was a few memories meticulously hidden in the back of his mind.

Until the djinn had brought it all back with startling clarity.

Until his carefully buried dreams had come back to bite him in the ass.

He pulled the comforter tighter around his shoulders and turned to look at his brother, oblivious in slumber. Dean was glad Sam had been able to sleep. He'd stayed up the first night after they'd killed the djinn, watching over his brother, trying to give Dean some semblance of security so that he could rest.

Unfortunately, Dean's mind had been in overdrive, denying his exhausted body the respite it so desperately needed. When it became apparent there would be no sleeping as long as they remained in that town, Sam had agreed to pack up the Impala and head out, silently driving, allowing his big brother the time and space to rebuild his defenses.

Dean hoped like hell Sam knew how much that meant to him.

He was pretty sure he did.

He held his breath as Sam stirred, hoping his brother continued on in slumber. As much as Dean appreciated his brother's understanding and consideration, he didn't think he'd be able to stand looking into those sympathetic hazel eyes right now. He knew he was a mess -- that much was entirely too obvious. But he was the big brother. It was his job to protect Sam – not the other way around. If he was going to do his job, he needed to get himself together, and he didn't think he could do that with Sam watching his every move.

As soon as the younger hunter's breathing evened out again, Dean released a sigh of relief. Quietly padding to the door, he quickly opened it and slipped outside. Sam would probably be pissed that he was out in the chilled night air with just his jeans and a blanket, but right now he needed the space. He needed to feel… something. Anything.

He took a deep breath, the damp smell of the lake in front of the cabin tingling his senses. He could hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the dock, the sound almost welcoming in its placid cadence.

As he leaned against the front rail of the small wooden porch, he closed his eyes and let the sounds of the lake waft over him… the soft crush of the waves, the light ripple of the willowy grass, the gentle call of the wind….

Dean's eyes opened as another – unnatural -- sound carried over the distance. His gaze darted around the darkened shore, trying to pinpoint the sound. The sound increased in pitch until it overwhelmed the soft lapping of the water, drawing his complete attention out into the dark lake.

It was the sound of a woman crying.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Someday Never Comes**

Chapter Two

Dean held his breath, his eyes darting in the darkness as once again, the wind whispered across the open space between the small cabin and the lake. He swallowed and brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to alleviate the dull burn that had taken up residence since they'd left Illinois and the djinn behind.

Great. He was imagining things now.

He was so tired.

He had tried to sleep in the car, nodding off to the comforting sound of the Impala's engine, only to wake again as the memories of the other life haunted him. He couldn't get his mother's face out of his head. Her hair, her smile, her eyes… beseeching him to stay with her, to simply reach out and take what he'd longed for all his life.

It had all been right there.

And all he would have had to do was accept it.

But that wasn't something he could do. All those people… all those innocent lives they had saved – he had saved… he couldn't sacrifice them for his own longing. He couldn't trade their lives for the desire to have the one thing he'd never been allowed. Contentment.

It had never been his.

And it never would be.

He knew Sam had always believed that normal was possible. That someday they would fulfill their quest and a real life filled with happiness and contentment would be a possibility. But Dean had always known better. From the time his father had placed little Sammy in his arms and told him to take care of his brother, Dean had known.

Nothing would ever be okay again. His life, his very existence, had changed at that moment and nothing would ever be able to change that fact.

Dean had always known that Sammy's 'someday' would never come. Even when his brother exchanged their life for another at Stanford, Dean knew. He'd never said anything to destroy his brother's dreams. He'd watched him walk out the door without so much as a glance back over his shoulder and he'd known without a doubt that Sam would be back. There was no escaping who they were – what they were.

Dean had never asked for this life, but it was his and he had vowed long ago to make everyday count. So he hunted and he saved people and he took care of his brother and his father. He made the best life he could. He almost believed it was a good life.

Then the djinn had ripped the façade to shreds.

He ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes against the glow of the night sky reflecting off the dark water. A sudden breeze made him shiver and he grasped the comforter and pulled it tighter around his shoulders, lowering his head slowly as the fatigue began to settle him.

"_They're gone…"_

Dean's eyes snapped open, his breath still in his chest as his senses came to full alert.

No way in hell he'd imagined that.

His eyes roamed out across the dark water of the lake, watching as a slow mist began to roll across the waves toward the shore. He squinted into the darkness, following the mesmerizing ebb and tide of the silvery mist as the tendrils began to creep closer to the small dock at the end of the path.

Dean let the comforter drop from his shoulders and silently made his way down the wooden steps in front of the porch. His eyes glued to the shifting fog, he wasn't aware he had moved until he found himself on the edge of the dock, the strong scent of the lake enveloping his senses.

"_Help me find them…"_

Dean stepped to the edge of the wooden dock, unconcerned with the slight sway of the structure against the strengthening waves.

"_Please, Dean…. help me…."_

The voice called to him, echoing in his head, mixing with his exhaustion, his dreams, his all to recent brush with desire…

"Mom?' Dean's voice was barely a whisper as he reached out to the shape he could almost see inside the swirling mist. "Mom?"

He stepped toward the figure, his foot meeting nothing but air as he extended past the edge of the dock. The air expelled from his lungs in a cry of shock as he hit the cold water, the silvery mist quickly surrounding him.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

Sam rolled to his side, his eyes parting slightly. It took only a moment for the sight of the empty bed before him to register, setting off the alarms in his head that quickly made their way to his body.

He bolted to a sitting position, his eyes swiftly surveying the darkened cabin. His heartbeat notched up at what he saw – or, more accurately, what he didn't see.

His brother.

The same brother he'd barely been able to rouse to get him into the cabin, partially undressed and under the warm down comforter less than three hours ago.

The same brother who had appeared dead to the world, still shocky after his encounter with the djinn less than 24 hours ago.

The same brother he was gonna knock on his ass for scaring him over and over again.

In all fairness, he knew Dean was hurting right now and not exactly firing on all cylinders. And he was more upset with himself for succumbing to his own exhaustion and not keeping an eye on his brother than Dean for acting like… well.. Dean.

Tossing the blanket aside, he slipped into his sneakers, glad he hadn't bothered to undress before dropping into bed hours before. He made his way to the front door of the cabin and slowly pulled it open, his eyes drawn to the comforter abandoned on the porch. He leaned forward and snagged the bedding with one long arm then stepped to the edge of the rail, his eyes scanning the yard in front of the cabin.

He sighed in relief as he recognized the dark form at the edge of the dock. The moonlight was bright enough to allow him to see that Dean hadn't bothered to put a shirt on and Sam was about to call out and chastise his idiot older brother for wandering in the cool night air after losing a good portion of his body's blood when the words stuck in his throat. His attention seemingly intent on something out in the darkened lake, Dean lifted a foot and stepped off the dock, falling into the cold water with a faint splash.

Sam was off the porch and running for the dock before the warning could leave his mouth.

"Dean!"

Within seconds, Sam's long legs hit the edge of the dock, shaking the wooden structure as he pounded across and hurled himself into the dark lake. Sputtering, he surfaced, treading water as he turned in circles, frantically looking for his brother.

"Dean!"

The mist that had been covering the surface of the water began to recede and Sam heard a sudden splash nearby. Turning toward the sound, he squinted through the dark, his eyes locking on his brother as the older man broke the surface, dragging in a ragged breath between hoarse coughs.

"Dean!" Sam swam, covering the distance quickly with strong strokes of his long arms. He reached out and grabbed Dean's struggling form, just as he was about to go back under. Placing an arm across his brother's chest. Sam began to swim back toward the shore, his legs kicking against the water as his free arm dragged them closer to safety. As soon as he could feel solid ground beneath him, he turned and placed both arms around his brother, staggering backward until they both lay on the grassy shore.

After a few moments of panting to catch his breath, Sam struggled out from beneath Dean's inert form, carefully laying his brother down against the grass. Dean's eyes were squeezed tightly closed and his lips and skin were dusky in the faint moonlight, his body shivering violently in the cool night air.

"Damnit, Dean," Sam mumbled, quickly checking his brother for any sign of injury. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" Without waiting for a response, the younger man launched himself back toward the porch, snagging the thick dry comforter that he'd abandoned when he'd realized what his brother was about to do. Within seconds, he was back at the water's edge, wrapping the blanket around Dean's shivering form. He pulled the prone man forward, wrapping his own arms around him in an attempt to ward off the shivering tremors that wracked his body.

"S'mmy?"

Dean's voice was barely a whisper, his breath coming in short gasps as he braced against his body's shuddering.

"Hey, Dean," Sam pulled away for a moment, looking at his brother's face, relieved to see his eyes open to half mast. "Hey, you with me, man?"

"Huh?" Dean shivered again, his eyes drooping closed as Sam pulled him back against his own body. "C-cold."

"I bet. What the hell, Dean? What were you doing out there?"

"Sh-she – need'd h-h'lp."

Sam frowned but continued to rub his brother's back, trying to work warmth back into his chilled body. "Who?" he asked. "Dean, who needed help?"

Sam's hands stilled at his brother's whispered answered.

"Mom."

Holding his brother close, Sam swallowed hard, his eyes closing as he ducked his cheek against his brother's head. Whatever Dean had seen – if he'd seen anything at all -- Sam knew it wasn't their mother. But, after how badly the djinn had screwed with Dean's sense of equilibrium, Sam couldn't bring himself to dismiss the belief right then. The memories of the alternate world were still fresh in Dean's mind and he knew his brother was having a hard time accepting that they were all simply a figment of his imagination.

He'd wanted them to be real – Dean had admitted that much. And now, exhausted with his reserves low and his natural defenses shredded, Sam knew that Dean was in no shape to discern what was truly real and what could never be. Sam tightened his hold and swore silently, wishing like hell that whatever powers ruled the damn universe would stop tormenting his brother and just leave him the fuck alone for a little while.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Someday Never Comes**

Chapter 3

Dean pushed at the oppressive heat that was nearly suffocating him as he twisted on the soft mattress. The weight of the blankets on his chest was making it difficult to move, let alone breath, but he managed to extract a hand after a brief struggle and push the layers of bedding down and off his chest.

Okay, maybe it wasn't entirely the blankets that had made it hard to breathe. Drawing a slow, heavy breath, he coughed as the air tickled along his throat and limply raised a hand to massage the tightness that had taken up residence under his breastbone. After a few moments, breathing became a bit easier and he cracked an eye open, his sight focusing on the form of his little brother perched on the edge of the adjoining bed, bent forward, elbows on knees, staring at him intently.

"That's creepy," he croaked as he closed his eye and practiced taking deep even breaths.

He knew that look.

Nothing good ever came from that look.

Suffocating under the blankets was starting to look more appealing.

He cracked an eye again, sighing before turning his head and focusing his hazy sight on his brother.

"What?"

Sam just continued to stare.

"Will you please stop that?" Dean couldn't help the slight whine in his gravelly voice. He cleared his throat, wincing at the soreness, racking his brain for a clue to what he could have done to garner 'that look' from his brother.

"Sam," he ran a hand over his eyes, effectively shielding himself from the intense hazel stare. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Okay? Now will you stop with 'the look'? I already feel like shit."

Dean peaked out from under his fingers, sighing in relief as his brother dropped his gaze and shook his head.

"What do you remember?"

Dean frowned as he rubbed the hand down his face, rubbing lightly against the tender puncture mark the djinn had left on the side of his neck. "Huh? I um… I don't…" The memories of the night before suddenly filled his head and his eyes opened wide, momentarily landing on his brother's concerned face before dropping to his hands splayed on the blanket covering him. "Oh."

"Yeah." Sam sighed, obviously relieved the older man was remotely in charge of his faculties.

Dean cleared his throat again, feeling his face color in embarrassment as more of the evening's events flooded his memory. "I um…. I just…." He didn't really know what to say. He'd told his brother he'd heard his mom. What exactly could he say to make Sam believe he wasn't nuts? He may have been temporarily… distracted… but he knew whatever he heard wasn't his mother. It was just all these memories crowding his head…

"Dean, man, I want to help you but…"

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head sink back into the down filled pillow. "I know, Sammy. It's okay. I know it wasn't mom. I guess I was just… a little more out of it than I thought."

"Ya think?"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was tired and half asleep and…"

"Shocky and delusional and stubborn and frustrating…" Sam's voice trailed off, the look on his face telling Dean he was letting the older hunter off easy.

"Okay, okay. I get it. I'm sorry. It's been a rough few days."

It was Sam's turn to sigh and he waved an apologetic hand toward his brother before raising it and running it through his hair. "I know. Sorry. I was just…"

"Worried. Yeah, I get it, Sammy." Dean decided to throw his brother a bone. He understood that the kid had spent the better part of the last few days worried out of his mind. And it was all Dean's fault. That was something he truly did regret. "But I'm okay. Really. You're not gonna have to find me a little white jacket with funky sleeves any time soon. I'm not gonna loose it, man. I promise."

Sam nodded slowly, his head tilted as he looked at his brother from under too long bangs. "Yeah, well that ship has probably already sailed." He gave Dean a grin, letting him know that all was okay between them. Dean returned the grin, relieved to know his brother still had his back.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Sam pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "What do you remember?"

Dean took a slow, deep breath and shrugged as he played back the evenings events in his head. "I couldn't sleep. I went outside and I was just.. you know…trying to get myself together. I heard a voice."

"A voice?"

Dean nodded, his eyes losing focus as he tried to recall details of what had happened. "Yeah. A woman. She was crying."

Sam's eyebrows rose and he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his thighs and clasping his hands together. "Dean, the nearest cabin is over a hundred yards from here."

"It was coming from the water." Dean shook his head, his brows coming together as he forced his mind to recall the memories. "I thought… I thought someone was in trouble."

"So you went down to the dock to check it out," Sam prompted.

"Yeah. I guess." Dean shrugged again and rubbed at his eye with the back of a hand. "I don't know. It gets a little fuzzy after that." He shifted in the bed, his expression going from confusion to surprise in less than a second. "Dude, am I naked?"

Sam grinned, slightly surprised it had taken his brother so long to notice. "You decided to take a little midnight swim, Dean."

"I fell in? I know I was a little out of it but…"

Sam shook his head, his grin disappearing as he realized the older man didn't remember how he had ended up in the lake. "You didn't fall, Dean. I woke up and went outside to find you. I saw you on the dock. You didn't fall into the water. You stepped off the dock. Deliberately."

Dean's eyes opened wide and he looked at Sam, trying to decide whether the younger man was serious. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know." Sam shrugged and blew out a breath. "I jumped in after you and hauled you out, but you were so far gone, all I could get out of you was that you thought Mom needed your help." He paused, watching Dean's face in an obvious attempt to gauge his brother's reaction. After a moment he continued, his voice softer in response to the unmasked ache on Dean's face. "Then you passed out and I dragged your ass back here, got you dry and warm. You were shivering so hard, Dean, I thought…"

Dean held up a hand, stopping the words that were becoming a little too painful to hear. "It's okay, Sammy. Uh, thanks." At Sam's slight nod, he gave a short laugh that held no actual humor. "I guess I'm kind of giving you a rough go lately, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam agreed. "No worse than usual." He cleared his throat and sat up straighter on the bed. Taking a deep breath he continued his line of questioning. "So, the voice. Did you recognize it?"

Dean thought for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "No. I thought…" He glanced at his brother, giving him a sad smile. "…well you know what I thought, but no. It wasn't her. It was… I don't know. Different. Sad."

"How are you feeling now?"

Dean thought about that for a moment, too, deciding his brother deserved the truth, despite the familiar desire to sweep it all under the proverbial rug and just move on. "Honestly? Tired. And more than a little creeped out that my little brother got his jollies off stripping me and putting me to bed."

Sam chuckled. "Well, you should've thought of that before you decided to take a hypothermic swim in a dark, deserted lake." He stood and moved toward the small table near the door, grabbing his jacket and snatching the keys to the Impala from the top. "I'm gonna head over to the convenience store by the office on the far side of the lake." He shrugged into the jacket, turning toward the bed, silently watching as his brother rubbed at his temples, obviously trying to alleviate the headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes. "Why don't you take a hot shower and get dressed. I'll bring back coffee and something to eat and we'll figure this out, Dean."

Dean sighed and nodded slightly, wondering if he'd be able to muster the strength to get out of bed, let alone wander all the way to the bathroom. He had to admit, a nice, long hot shower did sound good. Now that he was actually awake, he was aware of the aching muscles throughout his body and knew the heated water would feel like heaven.

"And Dean? Make sure the water's hot." Sam grinned at his brother, a slight twinkle in his eye as he opened the front door. "From what I saw last night, what they say about cold water? Apparently, it's true."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

By the time Sam returned, coffee, donuts and supplies in hand, Dean was showered and dressed in extra layers to ward off the chill his body couldn't seem to shake. Of course, he wasn't about to tell Sam he was anything but 100% okay – although he suspected his brother wasn't about to squelch the mother hen act for a few more days anyway.

"I spoke to the woman at the convenience store," Sam began around a bite of his bear claw.

"Was she hot?" Dean asked, a lascivious smile lighting his face.

"She was at least fifty and about as round as she was tall,"

Dean munched on a chocolate covered donut before tilting his head and shrugging, "Might be a little out of your league, dude, but you have to start somewhere, right?"

Sam just rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee.

"So what did your new girlfriend have to say?"

Sam pointedly ignored his brother's baiting, a talent born of much practice. "Inez told me that a man drowned out on the lake about a month ago." He waited a moment while his brother considered the information.

"Shit happens, Sam," Dean intoned with an apathetic shrug. "It's a big lake, people get careless, accidents happen."

Sam nodded slowly, taking another sip of the cooling coffee before continuing. "He was on his honeymoon, staying in this cabin. That's why she told me about it. Apparently the guy got up in the middle of the night and ended up at the bottom of the lake."

The silence in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Finally Dean cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. "Suicide?"

"On his honeymoon?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Doesn't sound real likely, huh?"

Sam shook his head. "Apparently the coroner didn't agree and that was what they tagged it, but Inez didn't seem to think so."

"Okay," Dean said, his eyebrows raised, body poised as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I'll bite. What does Inez know that the local fuzz doesn't?"

"La llorana."

Dean shook his head once. "Excuse me?"

Sam placed his cup on the table and leaned forward, tenting his hands on the surface of the table. "La llorana," he explained. "Apparently it's kind of an Hispanic version of a woman in white. There's a pretty big Mexican community around here that migrated up sometime in the fifties to work the fields."

"And you think that's what I heard last night?" Dean asked. "This lorna thing?"

"La llorana," Sam corrected. He shrugged. "I don't know, Dean. You heard something, right?" He waited until his brother nodded once in acknowledgement. "And in our experience, most of these legends turn out to somewhat true, right?"

Dean nodded again, his eyes losing focus as he thought back to the voice that had summoned him toward the lake. He had heard it – he was sure of that now. He hadn't imagined it despite the fact that his mind had been so scrambled by the events of the last few days that he barely trusted his own memory.

But Sam did. The fact that Sam was taking it seriously and not brushing it off as some hallucination brought about by his djinn infected mind somehow made it easier to breathe; like a weight had somehow been lifted from his chest and he was able to take a deep breath for the first time in a long while. "Okay. So how do we kill it?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea, man. Inez said there was a library in the town of Como, about a half hour north. Maybe we can dig up some information there."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

Como wasn't really much of a town – more of a collection of old, weather beaten buildings with the cracked pavement of a road breaking them up into small clusters. The library wasn't hard to find, sitting directly across the main road from a small open area that could only be interpreted as a town square.

Dean pulled the Impala into a diagonal parking space directly in front of the small, concrete library building and cut the motor. He leaned forward, craning his neck to the right and then to the left, getting a good look at the expanse that was downtown Como.

"Hoppin' place." He observed as he followed his brother's example and opened the door, stepping out onto the tarmac. "You sure this place has even heard of the internet?"

Sam chuckled and closed the passenger door. He stepped up onto the curb and moved around the big Chevy to join his brother. "Inez says it's got indoor plumbing and everything," he quipped with a grin.

Dean snorted a laugh. "Well, good old Inez certainly has her thumb on the pulse of exciting Como now doesn't she?" He turned and studied the buildings on the other side of the street, his eyebrows rising as his eyes lighted on the 'Bud Lite' sign glowing in the window of the building at the end of the row. "You go ahead, Sammy. Use that college boy head of yours for something more than growing hair." He nodded his own head toward the tavern down the street. "I'm gonna hit the bar."

Sam stopped, watching his brother for a moment before responding. "Dean, I don't think you should be drinking. You're still not one hundred percent, man." Dean's extra layers hadn't escaped his attention. It was normal for the older man to wear a flannel shirt over his t-shirt and a jacket hide whatever weaponry a job may require, but Sam had noted the extra thermal Henley over the T and that his brother had opted for his heavier blue coat even though the temperature was a mild 55 degrees.

As expected, Dean waved off the concern, giving Sam a cheeky smile in an attempt to alleviate the younger man's understandable trepidation. "You don't need me holding your hand while you get your geek on in the library, dude. You research your way, I'll research mine."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Someday Never Comes**

Chapter 4

Sam stopped short, eyeing the bright green and gold marquee on the outside of the small tavern.

O'Rielley's Pub.

"Huh," he grunted softly, surprised to find an Irish pub in the middle of a ??? Hispanic community. With a shrug, he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the dimly lit bar. It didn't take him long to find his brother. Dean was the only patron in the pub, sitting at the end of the long wooden bar, nursing a half empty mug of beer. He was listening intently to the barkeep, an obviously Hispanic man with short brown hair and dark skin. The man was telling a story as if by rote, polishing a small shot glass as he spoke.

Sam quietly approached and took a seat on the stool to the left of his brother, nodding to the barkeep when he stopped his narrative, both men turning to the newcomer.

"Carlos, this is my brother," Dean tilted his head in Sam's direction "Sammy, meet Carlos, the owner of this fine establishment."

Sam accepted the hand the barkeep held out, tilting his head in curiosity. "O'Rielley's?" he asked, his natural inquisitiveness getting the better of him.

Carlos laughed, deep and long. "That's me," he grinned. "Carlos O'Rielley." He leaned conspiratorially across the bar. " His voice held no trace of an accent and his eyes crinkled as his smile widened. "My Irish daddy had a real weakness for the dark-eyes senoritas." He winked as he slapped a hand against the bartop and pushed himself upright. "What can I get you, Sammy?"

"Sam," the young hunter corrected automatically, ignoring the soft chuckle from his right. "Just a beer, thanks."

Carlos nodded and moved off down the bar to pull the draught, giving Sam an opportunity to study his brother. Dean still looked tired. He was leaning both forearms against the bartop, a uncharacteristic sloop to his shoulders betraying his fatigue. Both hands played with the half-empty mug, twisting it back and forth before the older man's glassy gaze.

"How many of those have you had?" Sam asked innocently, nodding his thanks to Carlos as he placed the frosty amber filled mug on the bar in front of him and quietly moved away to give the brothers some privacy.

Dean took a deep breath and released a long sigh before answering. "Two."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "Dean, you've been here for hours."

Dean simply shrugged, the action looking as if it took more strength than he had at the moment. "Guess I wasn't as thirsty as I thought."

Sam nodded and took a sip of his beer, trying to decide the best course of action to take with his brother at the moment. Luckily Dean answered the question for him.

"I'm fine, Sam. Just tired." He finally turned to his brother, dragging dulled green eyes up to meet Sam's. "Find anything interesting at the library?"

Sam swallowed another chug of beer, accepting that his brother knew his limits – even though a lifetime of experience said otherwise.

"I was able to find a few references to the La llorana myth," he began, pulling a few printed documents from his pocket, shelving the inevitable argument about his brother's health for later when, hopefully, Dean was in more of a mood to listen. "It's a pretty common legend, although there are a lot of variations within different Hispanic cultures. For the most part, the name La llorana translates into 'the Weeping Woman.' In most myths she was a young woman who fell in love, was jilted and drown her children before taking her own life."

Dean nodded. "That's pretty much what Carlos said. According to him, there have been quite a few disappearances in the last fifty years or so. Most of the early ones were never investigated. The more recent ones are put down to accidental drownings or suicides."

Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose. "Yeah. That fits. According to the legends, the spirit haunts bodies of water, trying to find her children, asking those she considers kindrid spirits for help."

"Okay," Dean said slowly, his lips pursed in thought. "That sounds like it's what I heard. She said 'they're gone' and asked me to help find 'them' – whoever they are. But why me?" He turned to his brother, shaking his head as he tried to work out the connection. "You said she seeks out kindrid spirits." His eyes found his brother's, the question burning in the tired green depths. "Why would she appear to me?"

"Actually," Sam sighed, "I've got a theory about that." He took another sip of the cool beer before swiveling on the stool to face his brother. "The spirit is looking for whomever she lost – from what I've pieced together from the legends and what you've said, presumably her children… I think that maybe you heard her cry because you were… you are feeling the same kind of loss. The same kind of pain."

"Sam, that doesn't make any sense. Dad's the only one we lost and he died almost a year ago. Besides, he was your dad, too. Why would I be… why would I hear it and not you?"

"Because you lost Mom."

At Dean's stricken look, Sam's voice softened.

"Again."

Dean's breath hitched and he remained silent, dropping his eyes and staring sightlessly at the bartop in front of him. "You –" His voice caught and he was forced to clear his throat before continuing. "You said it yourself. It wasn't real."

Sam nodded once, his eyes remaining on his brother's profile. "But it felt real." He waited until Dean's head tipped slightly in acknowledgement. "Dean, this is me. I know you better than anyone. I know this… these memories – real or false – are killing you. You got Mom back and then you lost her all over again. Only this time it wasn't some demon that took her away… it was you giving her up – giving it all up -- and that's tearing you apart."

"Sam…"

"No, Dean. You can't keep burying this. I've tried to stay quiet – let you deal with this your own way, but now it's making you a target. Please, Dean. You can't keep doing this to yourself. Just… please… let me help."

"How?" Dean's voice held a hard edge, thought it remained low and barely audible. "I admit it, I'm a mess. Is that what you want to hear?" He glanced at Sam, anger sparking his green eyes. "And this spirit came after me because… because I was ripe for the picking. Fine. I get it. What happened happened. The djinn fucked with my head and I'm screwed up enough that this bitch wants me to join her book club. I get it, Sam. Now, what do we do about it?"

Sam sighed. That wasn't the kind of response he was expecting. He never wanted Dean to feel cornered and he certainly didn't want his brother feel that any of this was his fault. He just wanted to help Dean get some kind of… peace. He wanted Dean to realize that he was entitled to his dreams, his desires, that not everything had to be sacrificed because it was what was expected.

He wanted Dean to believe that it was okay to want something for himself and even though his desires couldn't possibly come true, it was still okay to want them. It didn't make him weak and it didn't make him selfish. It simply made him human.

But Dean's way of dealing with emotion was to turn it back onto the job. As long as he had a hunt, he had a reason to bury his feelings deep enough that they couldn't hurt anymore. Although he was disappointed that Dean had decided to ignore his own pain and focus on the hunt they had managed to stumble into, his brother's penchant for redirecting attention away from himself and on to some plan of action didn't really surprised him.

"Salt and burn," Sam responded with a defeated shrug. "There's only one problem."

"Only one?"

Sam chuckled, glad he could still count on his smart ass older brother to cut through the tension even when he himself was at the heart of it. When Dean buried his pain, he did it without hesitation. "Well, one big one. I have no idea who she is, and, considering that when most of these people migrated here they were illegals…." He shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.

"There's no records of deaths," Dean finished, rubbing a hand across his face.

"Bingo," Sam responded. "Meaning there's no record of burial."

Dean sighed and downed the rest of his beer, grimacing at the warm liquid. "Terrific."

Sam followed suit and then stood, signaling that it was time to head out. "Look, Dean. We've found unmarked graves before. It'll just take us a little longer than normal. In the meantime…" He thrust his hands into his pockets and raised his eyesbrows giving his brother a once over. "You really look like shit, Dean."

The older man chuckled, but didn't argue. "Okay, okay. Put away the puppy eyes, Sammy. I'm coming." He wearily forced himself up from the stool, slapping a hand on the bar to get Carlos' attention. "Dude, thanks for the beer."

Carlos nodded, giving the brothers a modest wave as they moved toward the door.

"Be careful, amigos," he cautioned with a sad smile.

Dean returned the smile. "Always."

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns


	5. Chapter 5

**Someday Never Comes**

Chapter 5

By the time they returned to the cabin, Sam could tell Dean was feeling less that 'peachy.' Unfortunately, that was the answer he received to his hesitant inquiry into his brother's health. From the slight flush on his cheeks to the droop of his eyes, Sam knew Dean's reserves were almost depleted and that the older hunter would drop like a rock given the correct circumstances.

Sam wasn't above playing dirty to make sure those circumstances came about.

He'd managed to copy quite a few records from the library's local records and as soon as they were back in the warm, comfortable cabin, Sam insisted they wade through the pages and pages of death notices under the pretext that something may jump out at them that could help them to possibly turn up a lead as to the identity of the La llorana. Dean had grumbled about wasting time, but had finally agreed, admitting he had no better solutions to their current problem.

Sam knew his brother's obvious exhaustion and slight fever, coupled with the tedious job of sifting through meaningless names, descriptions and the scientific jargon used to record the cause of death would take their toll and make it impossible for Dean to not succumb to his bodies need for rest.

After almost an hour of nearly nodding off himself due to the mind-numbing subject matter, Sam glanced at his brother, relieved to see him prone on the bed, paper work rising and falling steadily on his chest as he breathed deeply in sleep.

Sam grinned in triumph. Mission accomplished.

Setting his own lists aside, he quietly crossed the room to the side of the bed and placed a gentle hand on his brother's forehead. Dean's skin was warm, but just slightly. He'd already been fighting the blood loss and chills from the warehouse before he took his midnight swim in the lake, but Sam was confident that the fever was more likely due to the older man's run down condition than to any actual infection or sickness. A good nights sleep would do him good.

Sam let his hand fall to his brother's cheek, a sad smile turning the corner of his mouth as Dean unconsciously leaned into the connection, sleep offering him the opportunity to accept the care and concern that wakefulness had always forced him to deny.

Sam sighed. It wasn't fair. His brother deserved so much better.

He had wanted to stop at this quiet, remote cabin to give Dean time to come to terms with what had happened. He wanted his older brother to be able to relax and find a way to deal with the loss that had torn his life apart – now as well as twenty some years ago. Dean had never really talked about their mom. Sure he had told Sam some things here and there, like how she had always burned the chocolate chip cookies and how she had tucked him in to bed every night telling him that 'angels were watching over him.' But Dean had never really opened up about how he felt about losing her.

Sam knew it hurt his brother still. He missed her, too and he would always regret not having known her, but Dean… he remembered her – as much as a four year old could. And he had always carried her memory in his heart. Sam envied his brother that.

He pitied him for it, too.

Gently, he pried Dean's arm from its position on top of his chest and removed the papers. He considered removing the worn leather boots to make Dean more comfortable, but decided that his brother looked pretty content and feared waking him, denying him some much needed rest. Leaning across the bed, Sam gripped the comforter and pulled it across, effectively covering his brother boots and all.

Knowing he still had pages of research to sift through on his own, Sam filled and started the small coffee maker, yawning as the warmth of the cabin fed his drowsiness. Rubbing a hand over his face, he glanced at the empty bed longingly, knowing that if he lay down for even a minute, he would be out. He took a deep breath and released it through his nose, shaking himself to get his blood circulating.

There would be no sleep for him. Despite the death records, Sam knew he needed to stay alert to keep an eye on his brother, just in case the spirit called for him again. He was pretty sure, now that Dean knew what was going on, that the older hunter would be able to resist, but Sam didn't want to take any chances – especially after all they had been through – all Dean had been through – in the last few days.

Nope. Better safe than sorry. Sam would stay awake and watch over his brother. He owed him that much. He'd denied the djinn and he would deny the La llorana. The spirit couldn't have his brother. Sam wouldn't allow it.

Padding quietly to the door, Sam stepped out onto the small porch, sighing as the cool night air swept across his skin. The drowsiness he'd begun to feel inside the cabin began to abate as the chill woke his body, causing him to shove his hands into his pockets and pull his arms close to his side.

His eyes searched out the dark waters of the lake, lapping against the grassy shore. The dock swayed rhythmically and Sam suppressed a shudder, the memory of watching Dean step off into the nothingness of the murky waves eradicating any remnants of his lethargy.

He stepped off the porch and made his way down to the grass next to the lake. His eyes searched for any sign of the spirit, turning his head slowly from side to side in an effort to pick up anything that could be construed as a voice. A slow drifting mist covered the water sporadically, slowly ebbing toward the shoreline, gliding along the dark waves and gracefully floating onto shore, hovering around his ankles.

He sighed, disappointed that he couldn't sense anything. To be completely honest, it scared the crap out of him that Dean had been able to hear the spirit and he couldn't – after all, he was supposed to be the one with the weird ass psychic powers, right? He was almost certain his theory about the La llorana appearing to other people in pain was correct. He had the name of the man who had died on his honeymoon and a few other victims from the last few years. In the morning, he'd take the opportunity to make a few calls before Dean woke and try to verify that theory.

In the meantime, he set his resolve. There was no way this spirit was getting to his brother. It would have to go through him first.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

"_Stay with us…"_

"_I'm sorry."_

Dean's eyes snapped open as the familiar sensations from the dream began to fade from his mind. His hand rubbed at his stomach, the sensation of the knife wound faint, yet still discernable in his tense body. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, knowing that the dream was just that – a dream – and it couldn't hurt him. The power the djinn's fantasy had over him was diminishing, he knew, but it was still painful to remember, and he just wished he could bury it somewhere in his subconscious and move on.

He knew he wasn't fooling Sam – his little brother had always been able to see through Dean's façade when he'd wanted to, but this was something Sam couldn't help him with. His brother was right. It wasn't losing mom that hurt so much, it was the fact that he'd chosen to let her go.

Yes, he knew she hadn't been real. Sam, Jessica, Carmen… none of them had been real. But they had been real enough to him. He had seen them, touched them, smelled them… he had even been able to sense their love for him… and he had known all along he didn't belong. That he couldn't stay.

He'd gone to Dad's grave in the hopes that he would be able to find something, some reason to believe that he could deserve it. But, even without saying a word, John Winchester had made sure he'd known the truth. He was a hunter. His life was already set for him from the moment his mother had perished in the flames. He had no choice… it was never meant to be.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he grimaced at the slight sheen of sweat that had formed on his skin. Although still chilled, he knew the room was warm and pushed at the comforter that had been thrown over him. He must have fallen asleep while reading through those damn boring death notices.

He shook his head, a knowing smile lighting upon his lips. That had probably been his brother's plan all along. The kid could be pretty devious when he put his mind to it. Of course he was no match for the master….

Dean pushed himself up, groaning as he felt his muscles protest the movement. He hated being sick. The aches and general crappy feeling was something he'd always downplayed, but this time his exhaustion was something he just couldn't shake. He was pretty sure he just needed some time and that his current physical condition was nothing to be alarmed about, but he was equally convinced his mother hen little brother wouldn't stop hovering until he was convinced Dean was back to 100%.

Time to start acting the part.

A quick look around the cabin showed no sign of Sam. The door to the bathroom stood ajar, the space beyond it dark and deserted. The coffee pot was still brewing, so Dean knew his brother hadn't been gone for long. His heart beat faster as the thought of the La llorana targeting Sam and he pushed himself up, moving toward the door, ignoring the objection from his still weary body.

As soon as he was out the door, his eyes found his brother at the edge of the lake, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the thin tendrils of mist coiling around Sam's legs.

"Sam!"

He jumped off the porch, the weakness in his legs nearly sending him onto the grassy slope. He watched as Sam turned, concern in his eyes as he took a step forward.

"No!" Dean pushed himself on as he watched the expression on his brother's face turn from concern to shock as the tendrils coalesced and pulled Sam's feet into the water, his body quickly following.

"Sammy!!"

Dean raced to the edge of the water, wading in without a thought for his own safety. As the water quickly deepened, he dove, headfirst into the mist, surfacing further from the shore. He turned, treading water, his eyes frantically searching for any sign of his brother.

"You can't have him!" he screamed into the darkness. "Not him! Please…" his voice broke and he could feel the sob rising from his chest. "Please…" his voice now a hoarse whisper as he turned in a slow circle. He didn't know if the water on his face was from the lake or his own eyes, but it didn't really matter. Fear had gripped his heart and he couldn't even summon the anger he was normally able to rely on. All he could think about was that he couldn't lose Sam. He couldn't… "He's all I have," Dean pleaded. "Please, take me… just let him live. Please…. I'll do anything you want. I'll help you find them. I promise. Just… please… give him back."

His voice gave out, the emotion choking him as he struggled to keep his head above the water. Suddenly the mist began to recede and he held his breath, not daring to hope…

There! A dark shape bobbed in the water a few yards to his right. He quickly covered the short distance, grabbing the familiar plaid shirt and yanking back on the pliant body.

"Sammy…" he whispered, his voice trembling with cold and fear. Without hesitation, he dragged his brother back to the shore, pulling him up onto the grass and completely free of the water before falling back onto his butt, Sam's cold body wrapped in his arms. He couldn't tell if Sam was breathing and he couldn't focus enough to find out. He simply pulled the taller man back against his chest for the moment and buried his head in the crook of Sam's head and shoulder. "Please be okay," he whispered brokenly. "Sammy, please be okay."

A shuddering breath and violent cough were his answer. Sam's body lurched forward as he choked up water, finally expelling the unwanted liquid from his body. After a few moments he was able to breath normally again and leaned back onto Dean's chest.

"Dean?"

Dean just nodded, unable to speak. He was trembling from the cold and pent up emotion and he managed to wrap his arms back around his brother, ignoring the shivers that wracked his fevered body.

Even through the layers of wet clothing, Sam felt the heat coming from his brother. "Shit, Dean. What the hell were you thinking? We've got to get you dry before you catch pneumonia."

Sam shifted, turning himself sideways to get a good look at his brother. "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded and cleared his throat, fighting the shivers as he raked his eyes over his brother. "You?"

Sam coughed again, but nodded. "What happened?"

"You didn't hear her?"

Sam shook his head. "No. One minute I was standing on the shore, the next…" he shrugged, his eyes catching his brother's in the moonlight. "You saved me."

It was Dean's turn to shake his head. "She gave you back."

Sam frowned, unable to decide if the shivering of his brother's body or the dull fear in his eyes unnerved him more. "Come on," he slowly pushed himself to his feet and leaned over to give his brother a hand up. He had no idea why Dean believed the spirit would give him back. He could tell his brother was still feverish and he knew the few hours of sleep had not been near enough, but now was not the time to argue about what a spirit would and wouldn't do.

First he needed to get them both dry. He needed to get Dean back into bed, give him some time to heal. Then they would figure this out. Together. Just like they always did.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Someday Never Comes**

Chapter 6

Sam quietly stepped back into the room, his eyes resting on the prone form of his brother, still buried under the warmth of the down comforter. Dean was lying on his side, one arm under the pillow, the other attached to the comforter pulled up to his chin. He looked pale, but he was breathing deeply and steadily and Sam was pretty sure that the fever he had been suffering from since the warehouse in Illinois was finally on it's way out. He had carefully felt Dean's forehead and cheek when he'd risen mid-afternoon and had been pleased to note that his brother felt cooler than the previous night. They had both slept through the morning and part of the afternoon, but the rest had done them both good. Sam was still a bit chilled from his impromptu dip in the lake, and he could only imagine how Dean had felt considering the older man had been sick and feverish even before his second trip into the cold dark water. It wasn't normal for Dean to allow himself to sleep through most of a day, but it was obvious he needed it and Sam was intent on allowing him to sleep as long as he wanted if it helped him heal.

He'd started a pot of coffee and poured a large mug before grabbing his jacket and phone, retreating to the relative privacy of the Impala to make his calls. He'd found out exactly what he'd suspected he would. Gary Corrigan, the honeymooner, had lost his father a month before his wedding. The nuptials had actually been postponed due to the death, so when he'd drowned, his bereavement had been dulled, but the loss was still there. The other calls to families of previous victims netted similar information – the loss of a loved one within a few months of their disappearances. After three calls, Sam decided he had enough information and that it gave credence to his theory about the La llorana connecting with people who were in emotional pain. Sam concluded that the theory was probably accurate.

So what did that say about him?

He'd lost Jessica. And more recently he'd lost Dad. So why wasn't he able to see or hear the spirit?

Maybe because Dean's current pain overshadowed his. Jess had been years ago, and while he still missed her and felt a pain in his heart every time he thought of her, the loss was something that he'd learned to deal with. With a sigh of regret he realized he'd managed to move on.

He still loved her. He always would. But that love was now more of a warm glow than the intense heat it had once been. She was gone. He was still here. He'd had to adapt to that reality and as much as it hurt him to admit it, he'd accepted her death.

And Dad… Sam still didn't know what to feel about Dad. On one hand, he missed him terribly. He still felt guilty about the last thing he'd said to the man, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Dean had assured him Dad had loved him. That he had always wanted what was best for him. And he'd allowed himself to believe it because… hell, because he wanted to. He wanted to believe that his father had truly cared about him. He'd spent a lifetime being angry with the man about one thing or another, but in his heart, he did believe Dad loved him.

After all, he'd given him the greatest gift anyone could.

Dean.

Because of Dad, Sam still had his brother. No matter what shortcomings John Winchester may have had as a father, his last act was to shelve his revenge and put his sons first. How could a man ask for anything more?

But Dean had figured out what Dad had done, and Sam couldn't imagine the guilt that would heap upon those already weighted shoulders. How Dean could handle the knowledge that their father had sold his soul for him was beyond Sam's ability to comprehend. It was an impossible burden and Sam could only respect and admire his brother for his ability to bear it, selfishly grateful that it wasn't him in such an unenviable position. He was indebted to his father for having the courage to make such a sacrifice, and that one act made believing in his love for them effortless.

Which brought him back to Dean and his recent loss -- Mom.

From the few facts Dean had shared about the djinn's fantasy, Mom had been… happy. The other Sam had been with Jess, living his 'normal' life like Dean had believed he'd wanted. Even Dean had had a girl and a regular job and a life that didn't involve monsters and evil and shotguns and rock salt. He'd been normal.

And, Sam had been surprised to find out, he'd wanted to stay.

But, he couldn't. He was, after all, a Winchester – even if that didn't mean the same thing in that world, it still meant something to Dean. He had a mission… a purpose. He was a hunter and he saved people. He saved Sam. And that had always been more important than his own happiness. So he'd given it all up – Mom, the girl, the normal, 'safe' life… all because he knew he had a job to do, and the job was the only choice he'd ever really had. And by making that choice, he'd made himself a target for this damn spirit.

Sometimes the world had a really suck-ass sense of humor.

Sam slipped back into the room, just as the sun was beginning to dip beyond the horizon. He shrugged out of his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes unconsciously falling on his brother. He wished like hell he knew of some way to make this better. Hell, he'd settle for a way to get rid of the freakin' spirit and give Dean the break he so rightly deserved. But the records had turned up nothing and he had no idea where to turn next. If they couldn't identify the spirit, they couldn't find it's remains and they could salt and burn it into… wherever the hell salted spirits went after they burned.

He leaned forward and sighed, jumping slightly at the low, gravely voice from the other bed.

"Ouch."

Sam frowned, noticing the one half-opened green eye watching him sleepily. "You okay?"

Dean sighed and slowly rolled onto his back. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "I'm fine. I was talking about that sour lemon look of yours. That's gotta hurt, dude – scrunching up your face like that. Is it as painful as it looks from this side?"

"Not as much as it must hurt you to look in the mirror everyday."

Dean grunted what could pass as a laugh. "Nice try, Sammy, but you and I both know the mirror loves me."

Sam grinned and shook his head in fond exasperation. "I guess someone has to."

Dean pulled a hand from under the comforter and pointed at his brother. "Jealousy is an ugly thing, little brother."

Sam chuckled as he raised his own hand to swat at Dean's. He was relieved to see some color back in Dean's face and a long missing spark back in his eyes. After a few seconds, he decided the worst was over and let himself drop backwards onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.

"That doesn't inspire me with confidence," Dean mumbled as he stretched lazily under the comforter. "That is definitely not an 'I think I've solved the case' sigh, Sammy."

Sam managed a slight grin, shaking his head slowly back and forth along the mattress. "Afraid not. Have no idea who she could be and worse, got no idea where to look." He shrugged against the soft blanket. "I got nothing, man. "

"What time is it?"

"Night time." Sam pulled himself up and leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs. "You managed to pull a Van Winkle and sleep through the day."

Dean's eyebrows rose as he checked the clock on the stand between the two beds. "Huh," he grunted in surprise. "Guess I was a little tired."

Sam's eyes widened to match his brother's. "Ya think?" He watched as Dean pushed himself up on the mattress, wedging himself into a reclining position against the headboard. He showed no inclination to actually crawl out from beneath the warm comforter and Sam found himself longing to climb back under his own. "You hungry?"

Dean rubbed a hand across his stomach and nodded thoughtfully. "I could eat."

"You feel like going out? Or you want me to bring something back?"

"I am kind of warm and comfy right here."

"You do know you smell, right?"

Dean tried to look insulted, but one whiff from his raised arm confirmed Sam's observation. "Fine, you get food. I'll take a shower."

Sam hesitated, reconsidering the standard offer of a food run. Despite Dean's obvious improvement, he was decidedly uncomfortable leaving his still vulnerable brother alone especially with the La llorana still haunting the lake.

"Or," Dean slowly amended, reading his brother's expression and quickly deducing it's source. "How about I take a shower, then you take a shower then we both get food?"

"Why do you get the shower first?"

"'Cause I'm the awesome big brother, Sammy." Dean quipped. "And I still make the rules."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsn

The shower had felt good and, considering that for the first time in a long time, he actually felt good, he even decided to be generous and save Sam a bit of hot water. He still opted for a couple extra layers, his body not yet recovered from the unnatural chill his two unexpected trips into the lake had produced.

Shrugging into his jacket as the shower turned on behind the bathroom door, Dean quietly made his way outside, stopping at the top of the steps to gaze out across the water. The sun was just beginning to set, the fiery reds and oranges of the sun reflecting across the water like a painting. The sky above was already dark, emphasizing the glow from the reflection that danced across the waves.

He wasn't really sure what to do. The La llorana had given him back his brother – he was convinced of that. He had promised to help her if she spared Sam, and she had kept her end of the bargain. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to keep his.

At the time, he had been desperate enough to offer up his life instead, and he had meant it with all his heart. He would gladly trade his life for his brother's. It was his responsibility. Always had been. But he wouldn't just give himself up without trying to find another way.

Sam had admitted that his research had come up with a big fat zero. No name, no grave, not even a hint as to where to look. They were at an impasse. With little information about the immigrants who had come north so long ago, there was really no way of finding out for sure who she was. Even Carlos had not been able to give them anything to go on. As far as he knew, the La llorana had been there for as long as he could remember. She was part of the myth of his people and the local population had come to accept her as just another part of their legacy. They respected what she represented, and they didn't fear her, but they had no more idea who she was than the Winchesters.

As the last of the sun faded from view, the stars became brighter against the night sky, twinkling like jewels, reflecting in waves of the dark water like a string of Christmas lights twinkling from afar.

Slowly he made his way down the steps, shoving his hands into his pockets and pulling his leather jacket closed across his torso. He stopped on the edge of the dock, his eyes sightlessly staring into the shadowy water below his feet.

With a sigh, he raised his head and let his eyes roam across the vast openness of the lake.

"I don't know how to help you," he whispered. He let a breath out slowly through his nose, his chin dropping to his chest as his eyes closed against the feelings of remorse beating through his chest. "I'm sorry. You gave him back to me and I promised you I would help you find what you're looking for but…" he shrugged and raised his head, his face showing how much he regretted not being able to keep his promise. "We tried. We wanted to be able to put your soul to rest, it's what we do, but… we can't. EW tried and there's just no way for us to find you.

"I'm sorry. I know I owe you… everything. That's what Sam is to me. He's everything good in my life. He's the reason I… the reason I am who I am. I've spent my entire life looking out for him and I don't know… I just can't …" he took a deep breath and swiped a hand at the moisture that had appeared on his cheek.

"Thank you. For giving him back to me. I know you understand why I can't let him go. Just like I understand why you need to find whoever it is you lost. You've been waiting for the day… that someday… when you'll be with them again, but… that someday will never come. Not here. They're not here. They've moved on and they're waiting for you. You have to move on, too."

Dean kicked at a small pebble on the dock, watching as it plopped into the water and sank into the darkness. "I don't know if you can hear me, but the only way I can help you is to promise you that if you let go, if you let yourself move on, you'll be able to find them."

He had no idea if anything he'd said had gotten through, and he had no proof that it was even true. But he believed it. He'd seen the ghost, Molly, finally move on when she realized she was no longer alive and that her husband, whom she had been trying to get back to, had been able to find a new life for himself. When she discovered that he was happy and no longer mourning her, she was able to let go and Dean had been able to watch her walk into a sunrise and go to… wherever it was a spirit at rest went once they realized they no longer belonged in this world.

He'd hoped he could help this spirit make that same choice.

He held his breath as the mist began to coalesce on the top of the water, his eyes glued to the surface of the lake. He held himself very still as the mist rose, enveloping him in a warm moistness, almost like a caress. A tendril slid across his cheek and he closed his eyes, suddenly afraid that the La llorana intended to hold him to his bargain.

_Gracias, miho._

Dean felt the words more than heard them, and he released his breath when he felt no threat in the spirits presence. He opened his eyes as he felt the warm mist draw back, shivering lightly as the cool night air once again touched his skin. The mist slowly moved back across the water, not so much dispersing as vanishing into the dark waves below.

After a few moments he remembered to breathe again and felt the familiar presence of his brother standing behind him on the dock.

"You okay?"

Dean nodded and cleared his throat, wondering how much of his plea to the spirit his sibling had overheard. "How long?"

Sam dipped his head and took a few steps, coming abreast of his brother at the end of the dock. "Long enough."

Dean breathed deeply and closed his eyes, praying that Sam would let it drop and not turn this into a bigger chick flick moment than it already was.

"Think it will work?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I hope so. She wasn't gonna find what she was looking for. She just needed someone to tell her that."

It was Sam's turn to nod. "So… are you really okay?"

Dean snorted a soft laugh, one side of his lips coming up at his brother's predictable behavior. He opened his mouth to reassure the younger man that he was fine, but hesitated, knowing Sam deserved more than empty reassurances. He deserved the truth. "No," he admitted softly. "Not really. I miss 'em. Mom and Dad. I guess I thought it would get easier but…."

"It doesn't."

Dean shook his head sadly. "No. It doesn't."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "It will, Dean. Someday."

Dean gave a quiet laugh as he let his eyes roam across the dark, lapping waves. "Sure, Sammy. Someday."

The End

_First of all, I want to thank everyone who read this fic – whether you reviewed or not – the response was wonderful and I hope you all enjoyed my little angstfest. _

_I sat on this final chapter for a few days because I really did consider expanding the case and dragging it out a bit more, but decided to go with my original outline. This was never supposed to be about the spirit or even the hunt, it was more an attempt to get inside Dean's head and drag out the part of him he keeps hidden so well. I hope it worked and I sincerely hope nobody was disappointed in that respect._

_That being said, thanks so much for all the encouragement. Writing for this fandom is always a pleasure and I appreciate you guys more than I can say!! I hope you all have a Merry Christmas! See you in 2009!_

_Sue_


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